


just a little bit

by ienablu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Kink Meme, M/M, lap riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: Prompto reaches over – and rather than go for one of the shot glasses, his fingers wrap around the neck of the tequila bottle. He takes a swig. "You know I actually want to, right? And you're probably going to get a lot of offers to have your dick sucked, if these parties are anything like Gladio's said, so you should probably start getting used to having to turn them down." His mouth thins into a line for a moment, and then he finally looks up at Noctis. "So, here's your chance to practice. Turn me down."





	just a little bit

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to marmolita for the olympian handholding, enthusiasm and beta. This 90% would not be here without her. (The remaining 10% is just my own spite and stubborness.)
> 
> Content warnings: a lot of alcohol, resulting dubious consent
> 
> Title taken from the Kids of 88 song.

Ignis does not condone the use of alcohol for getting through royal duties. In this circumstance, though, he will make an exception, for both Noctis and himself.

Gladio arrives at Noctis’s apartment at half-past eleven, striding in with a paper bag held in each arm.

“We do not need quite that much alcohol,” Ignis says in greeting.

“Only this one is booze,” Gladio replies, handing one of the bags off. It clinks rather loudly as Ignis takes custody of it.

Ignis waits for Gladio to remove his shoes, slide on his slippers, and the two of them walk down the hall to the kitchen. There’s a stilted silence but for the shuffling noise of the paper bags being set down and continued clinks as Ignis starts pulling out the assortment of bottles. “What’s in the other bag, then?” 

Gladio smirks, wide and satisfied. “Only the best.” He steps so that he’s blocking Noctis’s view and lifts out a book.

The title is written in a cursive that has far too many loops, and thus Ignis has never been able to make out the words. On the cover is a realistic oil painting of a man and a woman, neither of whom have their faces showing. Instead, most of the cover is dominated by the assertive magenta of the woman’s historically-inaccurate dress.

It’s a book Ignis has seen Gladio with quite a few times through the years.

“Oh,” is all Ignis says.

Gladio just smirks again.

From his position on the couch, having had stripped off his dinner jacket and dress shirt, lounging in a black undershirt and his formal slacks, Noctis looks over and asks, “Wait, what is it?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Gladio tells him, gently dropping the book back into the bag. “When’s Twiggy getting here?”

Noctis rolls his eyes at the nickname. “He’ll text when he’s at the lobby.”

Ignis is staring at the liquors. The lowest alcohol percentage is the pleasantly specific 19.5% of an Altissian white wine. The highest alcohol percentage is… remarkably high. “One of us will need to let him in when he arrives,” he says.

“Not it,” Gladio says, idly.

“We wouldn’t need to if you could get him a keycard for the elevator,” Noctis says.

Ignis does not scowl. “One minor scandal a week, Noctis.”

Noctis does. “It wasn’t a _scandal_ , minor or otherwise.” 

“It very well could have been. It doesn’t matter how much the Lower Council ministers snipe at each other, you can’t take sides, and,” he adds, pointedly, as Noctis opens his mouth to argue, “snickering to yourself is taking sides.”

“No one heard!” Noctis replies, exasperated. “I’ve gone through enough etiquette courses that I know how to keep quiet.”

“But not to control your expressions.”

“Which is why I brought booze,” Gladio cuts in. A touch too sharp, given that he does not often play the part of peacemaker.

Noctis’s phone buzzes. He looks down, annoyed expression easing away. “Prompto’s here.”

“I already called not it, and I’ve got a few questions for Iggy.”

“I’m not dressed for it,” Noctis protests.

“Last I was aware,” Ignis starts, “there are plenty of jackets in the coat closet.”

A faint scowl appears on Noctis’s face, but he pushes himself up and shuffles out of the room.

Ignis lets out a long sigh. “I need a glass of wine.”

“Wine’s for you to take home,” Gladio tells him. He unscrews the bottle of rum – south Accordion, a 35% alcohol content, and, from Ignis’s knowledge of spirits, a high quality. There’s an elegance as Gladio pours the liquor into a significantly lesser quality plastic shot glass.

“Is there anything here to mix drinks with?” Ignis asks, concerned.

“I figured he’d have some soda for chasers, but no mixed drinks. Shots only.”

“You know how I feel about taking shots.”

“I know how you get when taking shots,” Gladio corrects. His face is devoid of the laughter in his eyes as he hands over the shot. “And you’re gonna need it.” 

Ignis sighs through his nose, accepting the glass and peering down at it.

“Noct’s not naturally reserved,” Gladio says. Out of the corner of his eye, Ignis sees him pour his own shot. “Not in the same way you are. Granted, I don’t do much better, but I was assigned dinner guard duty a lot during Noct’s teen years. Seemed like every night he ended up arguing with the king. And being in view of the king for all of it… it was a quick lesson for me.” He throws back his shot with an effortless ease. “It takes Noct time to learn, sometimes, but he does well.”

At that, Ignis takes his own shot, hoping to mask the burn of shame with the sharper burn of alcohol. “I know.” He can’t recall the last time he did shots of straight liquor, and he closes his eyes against it doing its job. Possibly better than how Ignis had been doing his own.

“So, how far are we pushing?” Gladio asks. 

“As far as we have to, I fear.” And he does fear. Ignis has been at Noctis’s side since childhood. In the past year, with Noctis’s graduation, his duties have been multiplying. As has the scrutiny, and the potential for further scrutiny. And he’s been meeting each challenge with a fitting dignity. It makes it that much more difficult when there are the slip-ups – yes, Noctis did smirk to himself when the Lower Council members sniped at each other, and yes, it was a simple mistake. But Noctis cannot afford to make simple mistakes.

And Ignis cannot afford to let him. There have been times when Ignis has pushed Noctis too hard, and he fears he’s stopped pushing him as hard – if at all – because of that. 

No more. 

Not tonight, at least.

“At least we don’t have to teach Prompto,” Gladio offers.

Ignis snorts. “Gods, no. I don’t think he can be reserved.”

On cue, the front door unlocks.

Noctis is laughing from the front hall as Prompto bounces into the living room. He has his normal buzz of energy – somehow both bright and boundless as well as frantic and frayed along the edges. He’s beaming widely as he says, “Hey, Gladio, hey, Iggy.” When Gladio hands over a shot, he continues, “What are we drinking?”

“Good question,” Noctis says, walking back in. His gaze is on the second shot glass in Gladio’s hand.

Prompto’s gaze goes to Noctis’s torso. “That–” he starts, rum sloshing. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asks, voice rising up as he speaks.

Gladio shares an amused look with Ignis, then puts his hand under the shot glass and guides it towards Prompto’s mouth. “Rum,” he answers. “Drink.”

Prompto very nearly misses.

Ignis looks at Noctis. Although he presumably wore a jacket down to fetch Prompto, Noctis is once more dressed down to just his undershirt. Which, Ignis realizes now that Prompto has started flushing, is tighter than most undershirts, and made of a material that clings. It is an unsuitable state of undress, even amongst friends. As well, Noctis is still in his dress pants, and if he stays in them much longer they may start to wrinkle. “Noctis, please change into something appropriate.”

Noctis turns to go back to his room, muttering, “That’s the point of tonight, isn’t it?”

Ignis plucks the waiting shot out of Gladio’s hand and knocks it back. 

The second shot burns just as much.

It won’t take more than a minute for Noctis to return in something more fitting for the gathering, and Ignis takes the time to carefully pour a new shot. When Noctis emerges in a pair of lounge pants, he passes it over with a, “Cheers.” He can’t quite figure out if the neutral expression is for the purposes of the training or if it’s more than that.

“Cheers,” Noctis echoes, and sips his shot. He sets the empty plastic cup down on the coffee table as he passes to take his usual seat on the couch.

Prompto has regained his wits, and he takes a seat on the adjacent couch section. “What do we do with the glasses?” he asks, while Ignis brings over two dining room chairs for either of the remaining sides of the coffee table.

“I’ll get a wastebasket.”

“Actually,” Gladio starts, setting a few bottles on the table and sprawling into the chair across from Noctis. “It’s easier to keep track of shots when they stay out. It’ll be a bit of a mess, but I’ll help clean up afterwards.”

“Thank you,” Ignis says, sitting down and watching as Gladio starts methodically unstacking the cups.

Gladio pours another round of shots, and nudges one in each direction. “To putting hair on your chest,” Gladio says, saluting the others with his glass. It goes down as effortlessly as the first shot.

Meanwhile, Prompto sputters as he finishes his drink. “Noct, buddy, please tell me you’ve got something to go with this.”

Noctis hasn’t fully suppressed his wince, but Ignis cannot fault him for that. “I think it’s all gone flat.”

Prompto groans. 

The objective for the night is to train Noctis out of reaction, or at least lay out the groundwork.  
For matters of etiquette, Ignis usually has lessons better planned, and they don’t involve alcohol – however, given the timeline, he feels he has a solid, if unspecific, plan. As well, he considers himself to be adaptable, and he’ll do his best.

But the alcohol gives Ignis some degree of pause. Ignis himself is primarily a social drinker, with a glass of wine every week or so. He’s not an avid drinker, but he can hold his liquor well enough. With Prompto and Noctis… he has supervised them when drinking once or twice, and those incidents went without concern. However, given the current – and currently quarrelsome – state of his and Noctis’s relationship, adding alcohol into the mix is a risk he would be glad to find ways to abate.

“Before we begin, are there any boundaries that anyone would like to set?” Ignis asks.

Noctis raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t the point of this that I need to learn how to not react to anything?”

“Even so…” He resists the urge to tap his foot – he cannot lecture Noctis on not reacting if he indulges in his own nervous tic. “It is always better to provide an out that is unused than to stumble into a situation where one is needed but not available.”

“We can just cry uncle if it gets too intense?” Prompto offers. “Like when I demolish Noct with any first-person shooter game?”

“Or when I leave you in the dust with any given racing game?” he counters.

“Rude.”

Gladio pours shots for them all. “No safewords in Crownsguard training,” he says, mildly.

It still makes Prompto frown.

There is already an unpleasant undercurrent of tension between himself and Noctis; Ignis does not desire for the tension between Gladio and Prompto to return. He still does not understand it – Prompto’s desire to join the Crownsguard had been surprising to an extent, but Ignis cannot make sense of Gladio’s reluctance.

It’s a matter for a later time.

“Any other matters needing to be discussed?” Ignis asks.

“So, going by what Noct told me on the way up, I’m just here to make him laugh?”

“Basically,” Gladio says.

“In that case,” Prompto starts, before turning to Noctis. “Excuse me, sir, but I must inform you that that is not a chocobo.”

Noctis is laughing even before Prompto finishes speaking, and Prompto himself is giggling by the end of it.

Ignis sighs. Their laughter is easy and it cuts through the tension, and he’s more exasperated than annoyed. “The point of this exercise is not to laugh,” he reminds.

“I hardly think that visiting dignitaries are going to be quoting dumb memes at me,” Noctis points out. His expression has smoothed out, but a smile lingers in his gaze. 

“Hey!” Prompto says, looking wounded. “What do you mean, dumb memes? Those are _quality memes_ , Noct.”

“They’re dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

Noct snorts.

“Time for a drinking game,” Gladio suggests. “Every time you laugh, or react in a way you shouldn’t, you take a drink.” They are somehow halfway through the bottle. He starts pouring the remainder into shot glasses.

“I do fear for your liver,” Ignis says.

“Burn,” Prompto laughs.

Noctis frowns.

“Drink,” Ignis and Gladio say in unison.

Prompto turns to Ignis. “You’re good at that subtle insult thing.”

“I’ve had ample opportunity to practice.”

Noctis doesn’t react.

Ignis smiles. “Well done.”

“If he drinks when you make him break his poker face, should not breaking him mean you drink?” Prompto asks.

Ignis reaches to take a shot from the table. “Seems fair,” he murmurs, before sipping at the rum. To his great relief, his tongue has numbed to the taste.

Prompto turns to stare at Noct.

Noct stares back.

Prompto’s mouth twitches a few times, and then he bursts out laughing.

The lines around Noctis’s eyes show the slightest strain, but he ultimately maintains a straight face.

“Drink,” Ignis tells Prompto.

Prompto giggles and does so. It’s only his second shot.

Ignis shares a concerned look with Gladio, who asks, “You gonna be okay, kid?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Prompto says, waving a hand, barely stifling a giggle. “I just don’t drink a lot. Way too many calories.” He melts back into the couch.

“How much have you had to eat today?” Ignis asks, while Gladio just says, “There are less calories in tequila.”

Prompto immediately perks back up. “Then let’s get to the tequila!”

“Then make me laugh,” Noctis challenges.

“Man, I don’t know how to?”

Noctis keeps a remarkably straight face while Gladio barks with laughter. Ignis himself can’t help a disbelieving huff.

“I mean, I know I make you laugh, but that just happens when we hang out. It’s been years since I’ve actively tried to make you laugh. I don’t know what to say.” He looks rather desolate about it, sinking back into the cushions. 

Ignis doesn’t know whether to be amazed or concerned that Prompto is already entering the ‘emotional swing’ stage of tipsy. Ignis shakes his head, and looks at the table. Five shots left. From his count, he’s had the most to drink, at four shots. Noctis and Prompto are both at three, while Gladio has only had two. He looks to Gladio. “I believe you should catch up.”

“I’ll take a freebie,” Gladio says, knocking back a shot. “But chances are most of those are going to Princess here.”

“Is that so?” Noctis asks, eyes lighting with the challenge.

Gladio turns back to Ignis. “Seems like Prompto needs a few minutes, and it’s my turn. So, should I start out with reading from romance novels, or go straight into the stories of noblewomen trying to seduce his dad?”

Noctis blanches.

“Low blow!” Prompto yells, a touch too loud. “I’m taking that shot on his behalf.” And he does.

“That’s not how it works,” Gladio says, pushing a shot towards Noctis, who, grumbling, drinks.

Ignis can feel his face warming up, and he takes one of the remaining shots in advance. “I would suggest the romance novels. Whichever of them includes the greatest degree of innuendo. Now is not the time for subtly. And I cannot speak for your experiences, but the times I have had to field for His Majesty in the past, the advances were all subtle, if persistent.”

Noctis takes the last shot off the table, not bothering to mask his expression.

Gladio lets out a low chuckle. “No subtlety, huh? Definitely time for the tequila, then,” he announces, opening the next bottle and expertly pouring shots. Ignis finds himself staring at Gladio’s wrist. Then Gladio turns to Noctis and says, “So. Sex.”

Noctis groans.

“Not most people’s reaction to the subject, buddy,” Prompto tells him, from where he’s melted into the couch.

He shifts, his sprawl taking on some noble quality. Ignis has no idea how he does it, it is quite impressive. “I am not most people. Drink,” he adds, an idle command.

Prompto’s hand trembles as he reaches for the tequila shot, and his face is pink.

Ignis isn’t sure it’s entirely the alcohol.

Gladio has noticed it too. His smirk grows. Ignis only has a moment to wonder if he should be concerned before Gladio continues, “If we’re going with a lack of subtlety, the best thing is to address how Prompto wants to suck your dick."

Silence.

Noctis blinks a few times. Turning to Ignis, an edge to his voice, he asks, “Can we change the subject? I have no idea what to say to that.”

“Well you gotta figure out something to say,” Gladio tells him. “Plenty will want a taste of royalty, it’s not something you can just change the subject on.”

“So what? I’m supposed to ask for more detail?” Noct asks, looking back to Ignis.

Doubts are starting to creep in. Ignis does not want him to, but, “If we are going for a lack of subtlety, then in this instance…”

Noctis flounders for a second, then says, "Alright. Go on."

"Your voice isn't steady enough," Ignis tells him.

"And your expression is faltering," Noctis replies, the hint of a snap to his voice. He looks to Gladio and clears his throat. Voice clear and even, he says, "Tell me more about Prompto sucking my dick."

“Wanting to suck your dick,” Gladio corrects. He looks between Noctis and Prompto. “I don’t know if he’s actually done it. Given the blush, I’d guess not.”

"Don't drag me into this," Prompto wails, flinging one arm over his face.

It is a fair request. Gladio was to bring up sex, but Prompto was not meant to be included in this part. His blush is still visible around his arm, and Ignis takes pity on him. “We’re to be embarrassing Noct, not Prompto. Though I do suppose this is a good practice subject. So how's your sex life?"

Noctis sputters, but recovers after a moment to reply, "Other than Prompto wanting to suck my dick?"

“Drink,” Ignis tells him. "You need to sound less cocky about others' interest in you."

“Heh, cocky,” Gladio says. He's not drunk enough to actually start giggling at it – not by a longshot – but he's staring at Noctis, who is quite close to be being drunk enough to start giggling at it.

Noctis's expression goes blank.

“Good,” Ignis murmurs, nodding at Noctis.

“Drink,” Noctis tells Gladio.

“In answer to your question, Iggy,” Gladio continues, after his shot, “Noct’s sex life is nonexistent. For Crown and country, he is keeping it in his pants.”

“Don’t blush,” Ignis tells a now-blushing Noctis.

Noctis takes a deep breath, then says, “This is not a subject on which I speak to anyone about, so allow me to change the subject to some off-hand comment you had said earlier.”

Ignis sighs. “Try that again. This is not a time for place-holding comments. You need to be able to think on your feet– be more prepared to think on your feet,” he amends, awkwardly, at the flicker of a frown that crosses Noctis’s face. “Deflection is a smart route to take, but it works best with a smooth transition, which means you need to be able to come up with what you’re going to say about my off-hand comment from earlier.” 

Another breath and another, and then Noctis says, “This is not a subject on which I speak to anyone about. I’m sure you are analytical enough to understand the importance of sustained and continuous privacy on the matter, as well as on many aspects of my life. Although we were side-tracked from that part of the conversation, I once more must bring up the subject of getting Prompto a keycard to my apartment.”

Ignis stares at Noctis and waits.

It takes a moment, but it sinks in – the fact that Noctis just went from not talking about his sex life secret to talking about Prompto. His eyes go wide. “I didn’t–”

He can only sigh.

“I’m drunk,” Noctis says, weakly.

Ignis doesn’t doubt it. He himself finds it a struggle to speak with any degree of his normal eloquence, thoughts jumbling and coming out unwieldy. Noctis is one drink past, but while Ignis does not know what he gets up to on his own time, it’s likely not building up an alcohol tolerance that would have him still be sober at this point. Not without Ignis knowing.

Gladio is the one to argue, “You’ve gotta learn to be drunk without letting on that you are drunk.” And then he says, “Have another shot.”

“Can we go back to me and Prompto talking about dumb memes?”

“We’re here to help you get through the awkward shit.” Gladio passes a shot to Noctis, and watches as he downs it. “So let’s go back to talking about Prompto sucking you off.”

Prompto reaches over – and rather than go for one of the shot glasses, his fingers wrap around the neck of the tequila bottle. He takes a swig. The bottle shakes and clatters against the glass of the table as he sets it back down. He clears his throat. Staring down at his hands, he says, "You know I actually want to, right?"

Noctis stares.

As do Ignis and Gladio.

"And you're probably going to get a lot of offers to have your dick sucked, if these parties are anything like Gladio's said, so you should probably start getting used to having to turn them down." His mouth thins into a line for a moment, and then he finally looks up at Noctis. "So, here's your chance to practice. Turn me down."

Noctis turns to Ignis. His expression is the neutral mask it needs to be, but there's a desperate uncertainty to his gaze. 

"Tell him you're saving yourself for marriage," Gladio offers.

"Though then comes the argument about whether oral sex counts in that regard or not," Ignis muses.

Gladio lets out a bark of laughter at that. “There’s an entire genre of romance about that,” he says. “I think I even brought one or two. We can go through it to help Noctis build his arguments.” 

Noctis has meanwhile been taking deep, even breathes, and he finally turns to Prompto. Voice polished to a diplomatic perfection, he intones, "As flattered as I am by your interest, I must decline the offer. I’m sure you can understand the delicacies of my rank and the limitations that are expected of me.” 

A silence stretches, and Noctis looks away.

“That was a good response,” Ignis tells him, slowly. “But…”

“But?” Noctis asks, voice cool. It’s only the many years of companionship that has Ignis picking up on the undercurrent of brittle anger.

He taps his finger on his otherwise untouched shot glass, mind whirling. Prompto is here to help Noctis with the humor element. Ignis tried to shy away from making it personal. But it’s not personal, it’s etiquette. And Prompto offered. “As you become more involved in court, you will certainly receive no shortage of… attention. You should learn, in a private environment, how to turn down those advances. And as he did offer…”

"You want Prompto to hit on me," Noctis says. It sounds impassive, but the undercurrent has switched to a strangled distress.

"I want you to turn down Prompto's advances."

Noctis opens and closes his mouth a few times. He looks to Gladio, beseeching, as if he would call the entire thing off, even though he was the one to start this particular conversation. Even though he may have been angling towards this from the very beginning. Gladio is far more shrewd than many – Ignis sometimes included – give him credit for.

"Can I get drunk, and have nobody judge me?" Prompto asks.

Gladio passes another shot to Prompto. “No judgements.”

Prompto knocks it all back at once, and shudders.

For how open and expressive as he is, Ignis finds it hard to read Prompto right now, hard to parse the vulnerability. Prompto is never reserved, but sometimes he shifts into being _guarded_ , and he’s guarded now. The fear that they’ve pushed too hard – that alcohol has made Ignis lose his better senses – makes Ignis’s pulse pick up, but Prompto was the one to offer a way out. Prompto was the one who offered to be turned down. “No judgement,” he echoes, watching a glimmer of relief flickers over Prompto’s expression for just a moment.

Then Prompto takes a deep breath, pushes himself up to unsteady legs. Uncertainty sweeps through Ignis as it occurs to him just how drunk Prompto is as he half-saunters half-stumbles the three steps over to flop down next to to Noctis. He hitches one leg over Noctis's lap. "Come here often?" he asks.

Noctis lets out a laugh. But he clears his throat, sobers his expression. "I have been known to come here, to my apartment, on occasion."

Ignis thinks it would be best moving forward with Noctis and Prompto consuming less alcohol, and Noctis had a rather quick recovery, so Ignis doesn’t comment.

Prompto shifts his weight – shifts so his thigh is pressed firm against an area of Noctis that Ignis is steadfastly _not looking at_. "You enjoying yourself here?" 

“Sitting on my couch, with my advisor and my Shield watching and critiquing me while my best friend comes onto me? Yes, I am enjoying myself.”

“Less sarcastic,” Ignis remarks. It takes a moment for the exchange to replay, and for him to be assuaged it was the right remark to make. His head is swimming, and while it is far from unpleasant, he needs to do his best to stay on track.

Prompto shifts his weight so he’s straddling Noctis’s lap. “You want to get out of here?” he asks, looking up at Noctis through his eyelashes.

Noctis is doing remarkably well, Ignis thinks, and he takes another shot. The alcohol has settled happily with him. Noctis’s expression is the perfect blank neutral necessary, and his voice is even as he says, “As flattered as I am by your interest, I must decline your offer.”

“So you don’t want to get out of here,” Prompto says, voice low and considering.

Ignis wonders if he should inform Prompto that most in his position would not be dissuaded so easily. Though he wonders if this is a good stopping point. Applaud Noctis for his cool-but-polite refusal, encourage Prompto to share dumb jokes from the internet. Let the tension in the air abate. Let Ignis have a few drinks of water, allow himself to fully regain his wits.

Before he can say anything, Prompto continues, “What if we just found a dark corner and I just sucked you off?”

Noctis inhales sharply, shifting underneath Prompto. “I would get caught,” he says, the non-refusal sounding more addressed to himself than to Prompto. 

“Just give me five minutes,” Prompto murmurs in reply. His hands slowly drag up Noctis’s arms, then settle on his shoulder. His fingers dig in, then he rolls his hips down slow and deliberate. “You’re already getting hard, won’t take too long, no one’ll have to know.”

Noctis swallows heavily.

It occurs to Ignis that this is a bad idea.

He wonders if it would be a worse idea to stop it.

Noctis looks over to Ignis for a brief moment, gaze wild and frantic, and then he looks back at Prompto. He licks his lips, and opens his mouth to comment, but Prompto takes the moment to lean in and press a kiss to Noctis’s cheek.

After keeping a straight face through watching Prompto climb onto Noct and proposition him, it’s _this_ that makes Ignis’s cheeks flush. There’s an intimacy that is out of place in an etiquette lesson, out of place before Ignis and Gladio. He looks away. To his side, Gladio is facing the direction of the two of them, but his gaze is firmly looking out the window.

The kiss lingers, and then Prompto is kissing the corner of his jaw, the side of his neck.

Noctis's throat is working as Prompto mouths it. "I'm sorry, but this is inappropriate," he says, and he does not sound nearly composed enough as he continues, "and I'm going to have to decline your offer."

Ignis spends a long few seconds pulling himself together. Noctis is doing his best to adhere to the lesson element, and Ignis can do no less than match him. "You need to sound less affected.” After a bracing breath, he adds, “And please withdraw your hand from Prompto’s thigh.”

Noctis does so. Though with how thoroughly Prompto is plastered against Noctis, there is nowhere for Noctis to put his hands that _isn’t_ on Prompto. His hands settle lightly on on the dark coeurl-print denim of Prompto’s knees – but after another careful roll of his hips, Noctis’s hands are clutching at him.

Prompto makes a breathy, needy noise.

Ignis takes a shot.

"Can we, uh–" Prompto grinds down onto Noctis, wanton and unapologetic, and Noctis bites his bottom lip. "Can we take a break?"

"You won't get a break in a real situation like this.” The ideal is is that this situation would never arise, but should it occur… “You need to work through it."

"Pretty sure coming in my pants isn't how to work through it," Noctis says in a rush, cheeks bright red. 

Prompto whines into his neck.

This is not personal, Ignis reminds himself. This is an etiquette lesson. A strange one, but still a lesson.

Even if Prompto sounds desperate.

Ignis looks to the table, gauging the effort needed to lean forward for a shot, when Gladio is considerate enough to hand him the open bottle of tequila. He takes the bottle and takes an indelicate swig. “If you need suggestions for mental exercises to take your focus off–” _off your best friend writhing in your lap_ “–the current circumstances, I would be glad to provide them for you.”

“Yeah, I need to get off– get my _focus_ off–” Noctis closes his eyes, head tipping back, teeth digging into his bottom lip and his eyebrows furrowed.

For a great many years, Ignis has considered himself quite lucky to never have walked in on Noctis while masturbating – he was no under presumptions that Noctis didn’t have age-appropriate hormonal responses, looking the other way when Noctis did his own laundry – though he is beginning to wonder if perhaps it was truly for the best. Perhaps if he had stumbled in on Noctis once or twice before, the sight in front of him would not be so… vulnerable.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Noctis murmurs, voice rough. “Prom, we– uhn–”

“Make me get off,” Prompto replies, voice just as rough, hips rolling down. “I was nearly there myself when Iggy texted and asked what I was doing this evening; thought he knew that I had my hand around my dick and was thinking about kneeling at your feet, thinking about what you would sound like with my mouth around your–” 

Noctis cuts him off with a loud moan.

Prompto’s breath hitches in reply, fingers clenching on his shoulders. “Yeah. Thought it’d sound something like that.”

Ignis realizes he has made a mistake. The alcohol is making things blurry and loosening his control on the situation. But he has undergone many trials by fire, he can salvage this, he can bring this back on track. This is about maintaining composure. About the reasons and real-life applications. It’s a solid approach, and Ignis starts, “Perhaps imagine this from an outside perspective, someone stumbling upon you. Perhaps it might serve as a deterrent to imagine the paparazzi getting a photo of this.”

Noctis thrusts up against Prompto, a sharp snap of his hips, and Prompto lets out a throaty moan.

“Or not,” Ignis concludes, averting his eyes. 

Noctis’s hands have found their way to Prompto’s hips, fingers digging into his jeans. One of Prompto’s hands has moved to Noctis’s neck, his thumb sweeping over the bare skin, drawing quiet noises from him. His gaze is on the ceiling, his face flushed. “Am I allowed to offer to get them off instead?”

“I offered first,” Prompto says into Noctis’s ear. “Wanna take you down until I’m gagging–”

Noctis bites out an Old Lucian curse, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I don’t think I can do this,” he says, voice strained.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” Prompto says, almost a whimper. “Just this once, let me do this for you.”

“P-Prom, this isn’t– we shouldn’t–”

Prompto nips at his jaw. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

Ignis can only hope so. The truth hits him like that first shot of rum – he cannot salvage this. He should not have let things progress this far. They are far too lost in each other. Lessons, propriety, and dutiful discretion have fallen to the wayside as they chase after each others’ pleasure.

Noctis’s hands grab his ass, keeping Prompto in place as he ruts up against him. “Don’t– don’t fucking stop.”

Prompto lets out a loud keen – to Ignis’s side, Gladio grimaces – and then his body goes taut. Noctis’s heavy breathing is the only sound that fills the air, though after a sharp gasp, he goes quiet himself. 

The room is spinning as Ignis pushes himself to standing – the world a bit blurry until the first touch of cold night air against his too-hot face when he stumbles out onto the balcony. His arms land heavily on the railing, and his forehead lands on his arms. The cool of the railing on his arms, and the relative cool of his arms against his face, makes him aware of the faint throbbing between his eyes. Although tequila does not share the same depressant aspects of rum, he had more rum. And mixing the two is not a great idea.

The balcony door slides closed.

“I think I fucked up,” he says, his mouth and words sour. He breathes in between his teeth. “I’m pretty sure I fucked up.”

“I don’t think you did.”

Ignis shoots him an incredulous look. “What part of that seemed to have involved him _not_ reacting?”

“His rebuffs were pretty articulate, given the situation. But really, part of your job was teaching him how to deal with unwanted attention. I don’t think that was exactly unwanted.”

Ignis’s stomach roils as he watches Gladio take a swig of his tequila.

“My job,” Gladio continues, “is to look the other way when that happens.”

“So we both did our jobs,” Ignis says, and it sounds hollow.

A heavy silence hangs between them.

“So, what do we do now?” Gladio asks, turning his gaze to the nighttime skyline.

They forget what happened, but that goes unspoken. The details are already blurring around the edges, to Ignis’s relief. The painfully tender way Noctis regarded Prompto is not something he will want to remember in the morning. Part of him wants to take another shot to guarantee it, but his stomach churns when he shoots a look at the alcohol.

“We allow them some time to clean themselves up,” Ignis starts. “We return. I provide all of us with glasses of water. You read risque portions of your romance novels. And at no point are you allowed to bring up the possibility of Prompto sucking Noct’s dick.”

“Possibility or inevitability?” Gladio asks.

Ignis gives him a _look_. “Subject.”

“Only if you promise to get those couch cushions dry cleaned.”

There’s a running to do list that Ignis recites to himself when he needs grounding. He runs his hands through his hair. Thinking of the next five minutes is enough to give him a headache, let alone thinking past the next half hour, the next twelve hours. “I’ll add it to my list. Provided,” he continues, “you never let me do shots again.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A little bit more](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884802) by [amiyade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiyade/pseuds/amiyade)




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